The push to expand artificial intelligence in education has sparked a heated debate inside Russian classrooms. Smart machines are being welcomed to check homework and help design study plans. The aim, officials say, is to lighten teachers’ workloads and free them from repetitive drudgery.
Yet the backlash from teachers runs deep. The Ministry of Digital Development had to reassure them that automation will roll out gradually by 2030. What lies behind the tension? Are today’s teachers simply modern Luddites reborn from the 19th century protests against machines in England? Is progress itself despised, or is the fear that a well-intentioned idea could be botched again by flawed implementation?
Seen from within the system, the response is striking. An educator who supports progress notes that automation of routine tasks, administrative chores, and paperwork not directly tied to human interaction can be a form of relief and happiness.
The core role of a teacher is facilitating lessons, and there are no robots that threaten that fundamental work. Let machines handle reports and routine tasks. The issue of homework remains murky, yet with so many problems today, using artificial intelligence to address them does not seem ill-advised. It is a topic worthy of discussion. The prevailing mood, though, is anger, resentment, and fear.
Colleagues have voiced concern that digitalization is a tool to demean teachers by reducing their role to that of operators and overseers of a machine. The fear is not limited to aging staff; even younger teachers in large city schools, well-versed in modern tech, feel unsettled. Why this resistance?
It appears something blocks a clear, objective view. Perhaps past trauma factors in. There is a sense that teachers carry the weight of low pay, societal indifference, and an overload of bureaucratic initiatives. This adds to a sense of post-traumatic strain that dims even small acts of kindness that occasionally arise in conversations about progress.
When it comes to automation specifically, the resistance may stem from collective trauma inflicted during the early distance-education period of 2020-2021. A regime unprepared for a sudden shift to remote learning faced a scramble: insufficient tech tools, hastily built and poorly functioning platforms, a weak regulatory framework, and ongoing top-down demands for teachers to adapt rapidly. The result was a grinding pressure that wore many out.
Even now, digital initiatives continue to land in schools, but not necessarily AI. It often looks like a parade of digital gimmicks funded by budgets with unclear educational value. Some programs push students to register for sites, participate in energy-savings contests, or watch videos about CNC operators in any classroom, whether literature or math. After such intrusions, talk of genuine digitalization and automation can trigger a visceral reaction.
When the moment comes for algorithms to steer bureaucratic processes, teachers retreat in cautious reluctance. If numbers can be redirected to align with formal procedures, many feel the workload can be trimmed. Yet the fear remains: an overbearing system could push teachers toward burnout rather than empowerment.
Even as paperwork is moved into machines, concerns persist that the changes might not improve real learning. Homework, often treated as a form of institutional ritual, becomes a bone of contention. If assignments originate from textbooks or are copied from online sources, the task is not merely to reproduce solutions but to cultivate genuine understanding. Relying on automated writing or automated task generation can complicate matters when scaled across hundreds of students. In such settings, teachers still bear the burden of ensuring fairness and originality, while students increasingly turn to AI tools to complete tasks.
In a busy classroom, checking notebooks for one course can consume hours. Five daily lessons across different grades demand significant time for feedback, planning, and assessment. The result is a struggle to maintain quality feedback amid a heavy schedule. Some educators acknowledge that automation could help flag poorly crafted work or inconsistencies, but the ultimate responsibility for assessment remains human. The question remains: who should bear the brunt of proof and defense when students push back against automated processes?
The fear of automation turning classrooms into soulless spaces is real for many. Yet some argue that clear, well-designed algorithms could encourage better discipline and more objective evaluation. The potential benefits are not about replacing teachers but about supporting them with tools that streamline routine tasks, allowing more time for meaningful student interaction.
Ultimately, the central issue is not artificial intelligence itself but how it is used. Machines are not the adversaries of education. The real challenge lies in the people who implement and govern these tools. Together, intelligent software and thoughtful pedagogy can complement one another, shaping an environment where classrooms thrive rather than stagnate.
What emerges from these reflections is a cautious, balanced view: progress should be practical, transparent, and humane. The aim is to empower teachers, not diminish them, and to ensure that any automation serves the core mission of education—supporting learners and enriching human connections within the classroom.